


there's so much left unspoken

by sexyspork



Category: Generation Kill, due South
Genre: Crossover, M/M, Marines being Marines, Swearing, even more swearing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-13
Updated: 2015-06-13
Packaged: 2018-04-04 04:58:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,036
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4126219
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sexyspork/pseuds/sexyspork
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In the beginning, there was Ray V. Then there was Ray K. Now there is Ray P.</p>
            </blockquote>





	there's so much left unspoken

**Author's Note:**

  * For [nanuk_dain](https://archiveofourown.org/users/nanuk_dain/gifts).



> Slowly moving my stuff from LJ to AO3. ~~Sorry not sorry~~. 
> 
> For nanuk_dain and the amazing Impossible Relationships series that breathed life into this little ficlet.
> 
> Unbetaed as always (so the horrific abuse of commas and mysteriously changing tenses are all my fault). No offense to the real Doc Bryan and Ray Person is intended as this is a work of fiction based solely on James Ransone and Jonah Lotan's portrayals.

When Tim found Ray at the back of the bar, he's leaning over the pool table, cue in hand as he lined up his shot. There's a blonde not much taller than Ray ( _Jesus Christ, Tim's surrounded by fucking midgets_ ), holding the other cue as he slouched against rough hewn wood of the table while another man standing a bit further off that had a disapproving frown tugging at the corners of his lips.

Tim figured the frown is directly due to the lyrics currently pouring from a crooked grin, " _I get off on you/Getting off on me/Give you what you want/But nothing is for free_."

Taking a sip of his beer to hide a smirk, Tim wandered over to his partner as Ray took the shot, neatly landing the solid orange five ball in the far corner pocket. Brown eyes look up at him as the smile smoothed around the edges, becoming less of a mockery of the expression, and Ray snatched one of the beers, "Thanks, homes."

Tim doesn't call him out on the fact that Ray had just taken the glass he's drunk from, as he'd rather he enjoy the sight of those lips wrapping around the mouth of the bottle instead.

"Gonna take your next shot or what, Marine?" The blonde bitched loudly, hands restless on the cue.

"Fine, fine; I thought cops were supposed to be patient or some shit, from all the fucking stakeouts you guys allegedly do when you're really just out grabbing donuts." Ray groused, but his tone is all good humor and mischievous eyes. Tim wouldn't doubt that by the end of the night, he'd wrung every last dollar from the cop.

Ray gestured to the blonde who'd been scowling, "Meet Detective Ray Kowalski and his Canadian counterpart, Constable Benton Fraser. Guys, this is Dr. Tim Bryan."

There's a hint of pride in Ray's voice, a note that always managed to creep in no matter how many years have passed since Tim had finished his residency. It grounded him, if Tim's being honest, because most of his coworkers are douches with silver spoons firmly stuck up their asses, all entitled and shit that Tim swore he would never be. That Ray was proud of him, _for him_ , was worth more than any supposed powertrip in local ER. Plus, none of those limp dick motherfuckers would survive even a fraction of what he did, and that's what Tim thinks about when he wants to stab one of his fellow doctors in the face with a scalpel.

Ray's eying the table, blue smudges of chalk stark against the fair skin of his cheeks as he the calculated the angles. Tim snuck a glance at his fingers to confirm that it was from transference as the former RTO's hands are practically covered in the dust, and Tim can't fight the feeling of _fondness_ that enveloped him. Ray never did learn how to stay clean, probably would never learn, never mind if he was in buttfuck Iraq or buttfuck Illinois.

Tim turned away, towards the constable, before hearts started appear in his eyes or some other sappy bullshit like that gave him away. The man is tall and built, Henley tucked into jeans even as unhappy crinkles have begun to multiply at the corners of his blue eyes for every off-color curse that fell from Ray's lips. "Bit out of your jurisdiction, isn't this?"

"Ah," A thumb trails over a dark eyebrow in an obvious nervous tick, drawing Tim's attention to the gray at the older man's temples. "It's rather a long story, but suffice to say, I found myself in Chicago on the trail of the killers of my father and-"

"He schwacked those motherfuckers!" Ray crowed exuberantly, shot going wide, but seeing how well Tim knew Ray, it was done intentionally. And by the smirk on Kowalski's face, he knew it, too. If Tim had to hazard to guess, with the highly uneven amount of balls as his first clue, it was probably to prolong the game.

Fraser drew up straight and tall, using every impressive inch he had to glower down at Ray. "I did no such thing."

"Bet you totally wanted to, though." Ray says with a smirk, hands spread wide ( _and almost knocking Kowalski in the head with his cue_ ) with his doe brown eyes looking up at the taller man innocently. Tim snorted and nudged his partner with his foot, not up to a conversation deteriorating into a full blown argument in the middle of a bar after the day they had with rubbing elbows with pretentious assholes. Ray looked over at him and grinned, like he knew what Tim was thinking.

"You were the one that had the medical conference." Ray reminded him with a pointed finger and sly eyes, because the promises he wrung out of Tim on his concession of attending as the good doctor's plus one had almost not been worth it ( _who the fuck was Tim kidding? Ray was always worth it, not that he'd tell the whiskey tango, brother-fucking hick that out in public_ ).

Ray then glanced over at the table to watch Kowalski take his shot before laughing out loud when the detective missed. Blue eyes glared at the younger man, "Shut the fuck up-" ignoring Fraser's scandalized " _Ray!_ ", "-Marine, I forgot my damn glasses."

"God, homes, you're practically one foot in the grave already, old man." Ray said, chalk covered fingers tingeing the condensation on his beer bottle blue as he took a swallow. "Don't worry, I'll give you a fucking handicap as it would be downright shameful to take your money otherwise."

"Give me a handicap and I will kick you in the fucking head, you little punk." Kowalski growled, still ignoring the pained expression that crossed Fraser's face with every curse and swear. Tim would almost feel bad, if this wasn't the highlight of his night.

Tim bumped his shoulder against Ray’s in a silent moment of solidarity, not missing the way his eyes softened before turning back to the game. Tim took another swallow of his beer, but he was pretty sure neither the constable nor the detective missed his smile.

**Author's Note:**

> Ray's singing Halestorm's _I Get Off_.


End file.
